


you belong with me (not swallowed in the sea)

by Kit_Kat21



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, F/M, Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-05 18:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19045870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: Jon looked up to Sansa. “Lady Sansa, I offer my services. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and new,” he vowed.No vow had ever come easier.*S8 rewrite.*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone is rewriting S8 and this is my hand at it. I read something online that really struck me as making perfect sense and it helped explain _some_ things if it's actually true. I choose to believe it's true:
> 
>  
> 
> _Jorah Mormont was intended to survive the battle of Winterfell, I have decided that all Jon Snow scenes from episodes 5 and 6 were originally written for Jorah, and that Jon was originally intended to stay north._

…

 

The instant Sansa stood from the table, Jon knew. He could feel her presence leaving and even in the Hall, crowded with people in every available space, he could still smell her past the food and spilt drinks and the odor of too many bodies in too warm a room and once she walked away, that scent got fainter immediately.

 

And sure enough, when he turned from Daenerys back to where Sansa was just sitting, he saw the back of her, walking away. He told himself to not follow her with his eyes as she moved through the crowd – watching her would be far too obvious to anyone watching him, and he knew exactly who was watching him – and yet, he wanted to know where she was going and why she had left the chair next to him.

 

It seemed like she could hardly take more than a step before someone was stopping her, wanting to speak with the Lady of Winterfell, and Sansa had a smile and kind word for everyone. Jon noticed the way everyone stood a little taller when she was around; as if they wanted to appear their very best whenever they were around her.

 

They all loved her.

 

Jon couldn’t blame them.

 

But he wasn’t the only one to notice.

 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Daenerys sitting, ramrod in her seat, staring after Sansa with sharp eyes and a thin line across her lips. Jorah stood behind her and as if he could read his Queen’s mind, he leaned down and whispered something in her ear. Jon felt his stomach tighten, only imagining the words being said.

 

“To the Lady of Winterfell!” Tormund’s booming voice suddenly carried over the noise in the Hall, raising his horn above his head, some of the drink spilling out over the edges. “She keeps our bellies full and the fires burning and we’d all be dead long before now if it wasn’t for her!”

 

Jon nearly closed his eyes at the speech and dared another glance towards Daenerys as roars and cheers of agreement rose from the Hall from everyone in attendance, fists banging on tables and feet stomping on the floor, causing such a noise, Jon could feel it vibrating in his chest. And in the middle of it all, Sansa stood, her cheeks pink – whether from the praise and attention or from the heat of the room, Jon didn’t know – and a glowing smile across her face, almost laughing.

 

She looked beautiful and Jon knew he wasn’t the only one in the Hall that night that saw what he did. His stomach tightened now for an entirely different reason when he tried to tell exactly which men were looking to Sansa with a gleam in their eye; to his _cousin_.

 

She wasn’t his sister. She was his cousin. She had always been his cousin. All the way back at Castle Black when Jon felt the first signs of knotting in the pit of his stomach whenever she was near, she had been his cousin then, too. Of course, Jon hadn’t known that then and had felt shamed at his deep level of perversion.

 

A brother did not look at his sister and feel stirrings in his belly. He wasn’t a _Lannister_.

 

But Sansa wasn’t his sister. She was his cousin. He had as much right as any other man in the Hall to look at her that night as she moved through them all, thanking them all with smiles as warm as the fires in the hearths. Maybe he had even _more_ right than any of them to look at her.

 

As if she could sense his thoughts and his eyes, Sansa turned then to look at him. Jon wished he could smile at her and raise his cup in a toast to her as well, but he couldn’t. He was being watched, too. After a moment of keeping his blank face and empty eyes on her, Sansa’s own smile began to fade and she turned away once again. Something in Jon sank and he looked down to his cup, trying to ignore it.

 

Things had been tense between them – to put it lightly – since he had returned to Winterfell with _her_ in tow, but Jon couldn’t do anything about it. Not yet. He would though. He would speak with Sansa and he would put things to right between them and between himself and the North again. Just not yet. It still wasn’t the time.

 

Unfortunately.

 

He didn’t know how much longer he could do this, but he knew that this was what must be done. He saw her eyes in the crypts when he told her about the truth of his blood; the way she had tensed and her purple eyes had flashed as if she wanted to ignite him in flames that very moment whether she actually knew it to be true or not. No matter how much he insisted that he didn’t wish for the throne – for _any_ throne – Daenerys looked to him as a threat and Jon had to keep her affections towards him favorable for as long as needed to.

 

He saw the way Daenerys looked at Sansa. It was the same way she had looked at him in the crypts.

 

She saw Sansa as a threat and Jon knew that right now, he was the thing standing between them, keeping Daenerys from Sansa and in turn, keeping Sansa safe. As always, he vowed to himself to do absolutely anything he had to do to keep Sansa safe.

 

He was tired though. So, so tired.

 

He lifted his eyes again and saw as Sansa sat at a table, placing herself across from Sandor Clegane. Jon had seen the way that man had been growling at people – women especially – to leave him alone all night, but Sansa sat and Sandor didn’t seem to be chasing her away.

 

Jon tipped his head back and drained his cup empty.

 

…

 

Sansa felt as if things were just a little bit off-kilter. She could feel a pleasant warmth buzzing in her body and as she walked – slowly and using the wall to aid her – things just seemed a _little_ off, but not enough for her to fall onto her knees and crawl to her bed; like she saw Tormund and a few other men having to do.

 

Things were quieting down after many hours of celebrating. Either couples have gone off, grateful for still being alive and able to have a private moment together once again, or falling asleep right on the floor in the Hall, not able to make it further than that.

 

Sansa wanted her bed. She was looking forward to it. She wished to change from her dress, brush out her hair and collapse into her bed where she could just _sleep_ for the next few glorious hours without worrying about bells ringing out in alarm of something else attacking. For the first time in a very long time, she felt she could sleep, uninterrupted. Tomorrow, there would be cleaning and surveying the damage and making plans for what was to come next, but tonight, she would sleep.

 

She knew what _she_ wanted to do next, but Sansa knew that no one else was ready for that. Everyone was still so tired and recovering from injuries and despite the jovialness of tonight, they were all still grieving. No one was ready to march South for yet another battle.

 

Hopefully, the Dragon Queen had advisors who would tell her the same thing.

 

Sansa doubted it though. She saw the way Tyrion and Jorah both looked at her; blinded by the love they had for her. Perhaps Sansa would be able to talk with Varys. She knew she couldn’t be too sure of him either though judging him by past company, but he did seem to be the only one to have a head on his shoulders if she was reading him correctly. She didn’t even consider speaking with Jon.

 

Who had left Winterfell all of that time ago and who had returned were not the same person. She didn’t know who this was who had come back, having bent the knee and worshipped the white-haired Queen, but it wasn’t Jon. Sansa knew it wasn’t. At least… this man wasn’t _her_ Jon.

 

This Jon seemed to hate her mere presence. His eyes were cold and his jaw was always clenched and when he did speak to her, it was as if it was always the last thing he wanted to do. It was almost as if he hated _her_.

 

Just this evening, with everyone toasting her – after his Queen and Arya had gotten their own toasts – she had looked to Jon; almost a natural reaction, to find him in the crowd. And as always, he was staring at her as if he wished her gone. She did her best to always hide just how it shattered her.

 

She missed him. _Her_ Jon. Not… not this doppelganger who had returned from Dragonstone.

 

She remembered their time after they had won back their home from the Bolton’s and were putting things right again; each side, working side-by-side, and then at night, sitting in her solar, side-by-side, talking.

 

He told her things about his time in the Night’s Watch and she told him things she had never told another human being; things she never thought she would ever be able to speak of out loud. Sometimes, after her confessions, Jon would turn in his chair and without a word, he would take her hand. They would sit there for, she didn’t know how long, just holding hands.

 

Sometimes, Sansa’s hand still tingled from the memory of his thumb running gently back and forth across her knuckles; not saying anything, but just knowing that holding her hand and sitting with her, that was all Sansa needed right then.

 

She knew it was sick. Jon was her _brother_. Her hand or any other part of her body tingling from contact with him was wrong no matter how or how often she tried to justify it. He was her brother. Ned Stark was their father. Anything ever happening between them was impossible; not that she ever though anything would happen. Even hoping – to only herself in the deepest parts of her brain – was both wrong and impossible.

 

So why, this evening when other men wanted her attention, was Jon the only man she wanted to be around? And why, when she saw him smiling at Daenerys, did she get up immediately and leave so she wouldn’t have to witness the two? Did she learn _that_ from Cersei as well? Loving one’s brother in that manner?

 

Still running her hand along the wall, she turned the corner and stopped so suddenly, it was as if someone had grabbed the back of her dress, halting her and nearly sending her spilling forward. Ahead, Jon’s chamber door was opening and Daenerys was sweeping out and from the low flames of the sconces on the walls, Sansa could tell that she was angry over something. Thankfully, the woman didn’t see Sansa as she stormed away.

 

Sansa waited another moment, just so she would continue to be unseen, and not for the first time since the Dragon Queen and Jon had come into _her_ home, she could feel another part of her heart rip away. For as often as it had happened already, she was almost surprised that there was any part of her heart that remained to be ripped away, but she felt the familiar stab in her chest and she swallowed.

 

She didn’t know why she allowed herself to be hurt. She knew. Everyone knew. It wasn’t as if it was meant to be a secret. Jon and Daenerys were lovers so it shouldn’t be a surprise that Daenerys would be leaving Jon’s chamber this night. But she had looked so angry. Something had obviously happened.

 

Knowing that Jon would never confide in her or even speak to her, Sansa continued to her own chamber, just down from his own. If he was to talk about it, it wouldn’t be to her. He had stopped talking or listening to her long ago and Sansa tried not to think of how he was still the person she always thought of first when she had something on her mind she wanted to get out.

 

Perhaps, she would think on it later, but tonight, she was just going to allow herself to sleep without dreams.

 

…

 

Everyone was watching them. She could feel the eyes on them, but Sansa could only stare at Jon. Her heart was drumming rapidly in her chest and she could feel something in the bottom of her stomach that made her feel sick though she knew none of that showed on the outside.

 

The way he was staring at her – his cold eyes, his clenched jaw and the hands hanging at his sides, curling into fists – he _hated_ her. There was no hiding it; he wasn’t trying to hide anything from anyone in the room. She had spoken about their armies needing rest and recuperation time and Jon had turned to look at her and the way he looked at her, it almost was a force that pushed her back a step.

 

She wanted to ask him what she had done. _Everything_ she had done since he left Winterfell – and subsequently gave up his crown and title and bent the knee to this… this _woman_ – had been for him. Preparing everyone for battle, making sure the stores had plenty of grains and foods for the winter, keeping the Lords as patient as she possibly could, it had _all_ been for him and because he had left her in charge in his absence.

 

And now, the hate he was staring at her with, with all of the abuses rained down upon her over these past few years, somehow, this was the worst of it. Jon hated her and was making sure she didn’t doubt that and what was left of her heart shattered right then into nothing.

 

Arya was looking at her – Sansa could feel her sister’s eyes looking at her from her side – but Sansa couldn’t even move. She couldn’t even breathe.

 

Jon turned back to Daenerys. “Whatever our Queen commands, we will do,” he vowed to her.

 

Sansa felt as if she could very well throw up all over the map of Westeros spread on the table in front of her.

 

“My Queen,” Jorah spoke then. “Perhaps Lady Sansa is not that wrong in her assessment.”

 

Sansa almost felt like laughing. The Queen’s most loyal subject was in agreement with Sansa while Jon looked as if he was ready to throttle her for speaking her mind. What was happening? Nothing was right anymore.  

 

Daenerys looked at Jorah for a moment, one of her eyebrows lifting. “Speak,” she then permitted.

 

“The North will be no good to us, decimated. Lady Sansa is correct. Their armies are exhausted and more of them have injuries than those who don’t. If we force them to march to King’s Landing, they will be ill-prepared for any kind of battle and if we lose the North, we are losing one of our strongest Kingdoms. Those who remain will forever hate you for forcing their men to go South. The North might not be thickly populated, but they are the most loyal sort. If we have the North’s support, it will be easier in getting the other remaining Kingdoms on our side, thus making it even harder for Cersei to keep her control,” Jorah said while staring down at the map, thinking things out as he spoke them.

 

“So, I was to fight in their battle, and now, they won’t fight in mine?” Daenerys demanded, looking at Jon.

 

Jon opened his mouth to respond and Sansa peered at him, wondering what he would say. It seemed as if this council meeting was just going in circles. Daenerys demanded their complete obedience no matter what anyone else was telling her.

 

“If you hadn’t helped us, there wouldn’t be a Westeros to rule,” Arya spoke up before Jon could speak. “It was as much your battle as it was ours.”

 

Daenerys now looked to Arya with those sharp eyes of hers, but Arya stood firm, her own eyes glaring back. And after a moment, realizing that Arya would not back down – and why would she think Arya would, Sansa wondered to herself – Daenerys broke into _that_ smile. It wasn’t a smile of warmth or friendliness. It was a smile that made Sansa’s spine straighten even more, having no idea what the woman was about to say, but knowing that it most definitely wouldn’t be good.

 

“Jon will come with me. He represents the North. I will need him in King’s Landing with me. Your other Northerners may stay. Jorah is right. I have the Unsullied and my two dragons. That will be enough. Cersei will have no feet to stand on when she sees that I have the forces as well as the support of others.”

 

“I need Jon here,” Sansa spoke before she could stop.

 

Again, all eyes went to her and Jon turned slowly to look to her for the second time since the meeting start. Sansa would not look at him though. She looked across the table at Daenerys as Daenerys stared at her.

 

“For what purpose?” Daenerys asked her in what she thought was a light tone, but Sansa knew that tone for what it was. Daenerys was daring her.

 

Sansa tilted her chin up the slightest bit, her hands clasped behind her back. She was not afraid of this woman and she would not act as if she was.

 

“Cersei doesn’t know Jon. She barely met him once years earlier. She has no idea what he looks like. You could take anyone to see her and tell her that he’s Jon Snow of the North. Winterfell needs to be rebuilt and I, and those in the North, need the Warden of the North here, with us, to help us,” Sansa answered. “A rebuilt, strong North will reflect upon the kind of Westeros you wish to lead.”

 

She still won’t even glance in Jon’s direction. Let him seethe with his hate for her. She would much rather he be here, at home, hating her in safety. She would not allow him to go South.

 

“Are you suggesting that your _construction_ needs are more important than my getting the throne?” Daenerys asked and she was daring Sansa was again; daring Sansa to answer that question with the wrong answer.

 

“I will go,” Bran spoke up and all eyes whipped to him.

 

“Bran,” Arya was the one to begin to protest. “Cersei isn’t going to sit down and _negotiate_.”

 

“Who says there will be a negotiation?” Daenerys asked with that raised eyebrow again.

 

“If someone from the North should go to see Cersei with you, it should be me,” Bran looked his near-vacant eyes to Daenerys.

 

“Ned Stark’s true son is certainly better than Ned Stark’s bastard,” Tyrion told Daenerys.

 

At that, Daenerys looked to Jon and Jon lowered his eyes so he was not looking at her. Sansa noticed it and wondered what that look was that Daenerys was giving him. Sansa was so deep in thought that she hardly heard the council meeting end until everyone was leaving and her mind came in focus again.

 

“We need to talk,” Arya said to Jon, stepping right in his path and preventing him from leaving as well.

 

Jon looked to her and Bran and then finally, he turned and looked to Sansa. No longer was he looking at her as if his greatest wish was for her to disappear. Looking at her now, he almost looked like _her_ Jon. Sansa said nothing though, staring at him and wondering what he saw when her eyes were focused on him. Jon looked back to Arya and without a word, he gave a single nod in agreement.

 

…

 

“How can I vow to keep a secret if I don’t even know what it is?” Sansa questioned.

 

“Because we’re family,” Jon answered, his voice hoarse and it almost sounded as if he was pleading with her.

 

Sansa stared at him and his eyes were soft and yet, there was something else in his look that kept her on edge. He was scared. Of whatever this secret was that he had to tell them, it terrified him. Sansa almost went to him, wanting to put her arms around him, protecting him as he had protected her times before, but she didn’t. She held herself back, her chest still admittedly raw from the council meeting and the look he had given her then. This was a man who hated her. Even with soft eyes now, he had showed her his feelings towards her and she wouldn’t survive his rebuff of her hug and comfort if she was to offer.

 

Let his Queen comfort him of whatever scared him so.

 

“I swear it,” Sansa finally was able to say.

 

Jon looked past his sisters to look to Bran. He gave a nod. “Tell them,” he all, but whispered.

 

Sansa didn’t realize she was on her knees in the snow until she saw Jon on one side of her and Arya on the other. She lifted her head to look at them both, but the trees past their heads were still completely on their sides. She closed her eyes, trying to get everything to the way it should be again.

 

But it wasn’t working because _nothing_ would ever be the way it was just a few moments ago.

 

Jon wasn’t her brother. Not any of their brother. A cousin. Aunt Lyanna’s son. And a Targaryen. Half Stark, half Targaryen. Daenerys was his aunt and Jon was…

 

“You’re King,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes and looking to Jon.

 

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m _not_ , Sansa,” he swore to her. “I’m from the North.”

 

“You are,” Sansa agreed immediately and she noted his relief that she had. “You’re a Stark. I’ve told you that. But now… you’re…” she couldn’t get her words in a straight order to speak them. Everything was still too jumbled and she couldn’t make sense of them.

 

“You’re our brother,” Arya said firmly.

 

Sansa forced herself to nod along in agreement.

 

Brother. Brother… _cousin_.

 

“Does she know?” Sansa asked, not needing to clarify who she meant.

 

“Yes,” Jon nodded. “She made me swear that I wouldn’t tell you,” he was looking at her. “Any of you,” he quickly added, looking to Arya then.

 

“Well, you didn’t tell us. Bran did.” Arya pointed out.

 

“Don’t let on that you know,” Jon said, his eyes back on Sansa.

 

Sansa’s mind was racing once again. If Daenerys knew that Jon is her nephew and was, in fact, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, what was she going to do? She was not going to just let Jon go no matter how often he swore that he had no desire to sit on the throne himself. That wouldn’t matter to a woman like Daenerys; someone who felt it in their very bones that it was their right and they would do anything to get it. Sansa had seen so many people who craved power more than anything else. _Nothing_ would stop them and once Daenerys had the Iron Throne from Cersei, she would continue to snuff out anyone she thought was a threat to her.

 

Jon was as big a threat as they came.

 

“We have to do something,” Sansa whispered. “To keep you safe.”

 

Jon looked at her for a long moment, not saying anything; just staring into her eyes. And in his eyes, Sansa didn’t see hate. He was looking at her like he used to look at her – side-by-side in front of the fire when it was just the two of them. It was the first time since returning to Winterfell from Dragonstone that he was looking at her like this; like _Jon_.

 

“You’re pretending,” Sansa said, almost in awe, and she wondered why she hadn’t realized sooner. Still on her knees, she was able to straighten, never taking her eyes from his.

 

There had been a moment with Daenerys… _Who manipulated whom?_ She had thought then… _maybe_ … but then she saw Jon smiling at Daenerys at the feast and he had just seemed too happy looking at the woman.

 

“You told me to play the game,” Jon reminded her.

 

“Pretending what?” Arya frowned, taking a moment later to catch up on Jon and Sansa’s conversation.

 

“I didn’t want to,” Jon continued, he and Sansa looking at one another as if it was just them and in this moment, this conversation, they were. “I thought I wouldn’t have to, but after I met her and watched her… I knew it was the only way.”

 

Sansa exhaled a shaky breath and she lifted a hand to her mouth, noticing that the hand was trembling. Jon noticed it, too, and taking it, he held it with both of his and Sansa stared down as he ran his thumb back and forth over her knuckles.

 

“I had to keep us all safe,” Jon told them all, but it felt as if he was telling Sansa specifically. “And now, you’ve managed to keep me from marching South. You’ve kept _me_ safe.”

 

Sansa didn’t know what to say. There was still so much – too much – to say. Maybe too much to ever say it all. Instead, Sansa turned towards him and threw her arms around his shoulders. She couldn’t help it or stop herself. She didn’t think of Bran or Arya being there, watching. Maybe Bran already knew she would do this. All she cared was that Jon was pretending. This whole time, he was pretending.

 

And when she felt Jon’s arms around her, hugging her tightly to his chest, Sansa closed her eyes. She wondered what Arya and Bran were thinking right now. She found that she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered into the fur collar of her cloak. “I’m sorry.”

 

Sansa clenched her eyes shut now. Inside her chest, she felt two of the many shattered pieces find one another and pressing together, they put themselves together once more.

 

It was a start.

 

…

 

Even though she was leaving that morning – leaving Winterfell and finally going South – Jon felt as if he still couldn’t breathe. Not until she was gone. It was his fault that she was here in the first place, but he had had his reasons and he refused to allow himself to feel guilty in using her for those reasons.

 

It had to be done.

 

There hadn’t been another way because if there had been _any_ other way, Jon would have done that instead.

 

Sansa stood next to him, stiff as well, and Jon wanted to reach over and take her hand, run his thumb over her knuckles – she seemed to like when he did that, he noticed – but now wasn’t the time. Maybe it would never be the time, but it certainly wasn’t now. Too many people would witness it and though these people have seen Jon and Sansa hug one another, somehow, taking her hand felt far more intimate than him and no one in this courtyard knew that they were no longer brother and sister.

 

They never were.

 

Daenerys approached them in the white coat she had worn when she had first arrived – Jorah on one side of her and Tyrion on the other. Jon noticed that Sansa didn’t even spare her former husband a second-long glance even though Tyrion was openly looking at her, obviously hoping for a look in return.

 

Though she had said he could stay in Winterfell, Jon’s stomach still clenched as she came to a stop in front of him and Sansa. He knew how she could be. She changed her mind on a whim and no one was allowed to argue with her and even if they wanted to, no one did. Those who disagreed found themselves staring in the eyes of Drogon. He glanced to Sansa from the corner of his eye. Everyone except her.

 

And what he had to do to keep making sure that remained true, Jon would do.

 

Daenerys said nothing for a moment, simply staring at Jon with hard eyes and clenched jaw. She did nothing to hide her anger from him. Maybe he would be staring at Drogon very soon.

 

“When I am on the throne, I will send for you,” she said in a hard tone.

 

Jon said nothing. He only dipped his head down in acknowledgement.

 

The promise of his execution went unsaid.

 

Only after the dragons were gone from the sky, taking their Queen with them, and the marching feet of the Unsullied were fading, did Jon finally feel as if he was breathing again. He turned to Sansa, still standing at his side, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came to him.

 

Sansa turned as well. It looked as if she had something to say and he waited, but her mouth never opened. They stared at one another and again, he wanted to take her hand.

 

He took a step back and with his hand around the hilt of Longclaw, he pulled the sword from its sheath and dropped to one knee in front of her. He heard Sansa audibly gasp and he sensed everyone in the courtyard come to a stop, watching them.

 

Jon looked up to Sansa. “Lady Sansa, I offer my services. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the old gods and new,” he vowed.

 

No vow had ever come easier.

 

He had made the promise to her once before that he would never let anyone touch her. After everything, he knew he had to make that promise to her again.

 

Sansa looked down to him for a beat and he heard her exhale this time, her breath shaking. “I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and new.” Jon couldn’t stop from giving her the smallest of smiles and Sansa exhaled another shaky breath, her shoulders relaxing. “Arise,” she said in a clear voice for all those witnessing could hear.

 

Jon didn’t take his eyes from her as he rose to his feet, sheathing Longclaw again.

 

People were chattering around them, but he didn’t hear. He looked to Sansa and she looked to him.

 

“We need to walk the outer bailey wall and survey the damage,” Sansa informed him. “We need to make as many plans and preparations as we can before we’re told to come South.”

 

“You’re going to come with me when I get the word?” Jon was unable to stop from asking as they began to walk from the courtyard, side-by-side. Sansa said she would never go South again and he didn’t doubt that she meant it with every beat of her heart.

 

“You will not be going South without me,” it was Sansa’s turn to vow to him.

 

…

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/47975545337/in/dateposted/)[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/47975554123/in/photostream/) my canon inspiration


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I barely remember the series finale. I have wiped it from my mind already so I just made my own council meeting and other things up. And I was actually super pissed that Yohn Royce didn't stand up immediately, declaring Sansa his Queen.

…

 

With Daenerys and her armies and her dragons gone, marching South, Winterfell had fallen so quiet.

 

Sansa loved it. Finally, she had her family and her people, together, without conquering outsiders, demanding things from the Northerners that was always demanded of them; as it should have been and always should be.

 

Just a few days after the battle, Arya had left with tight hugs and promises that she would return.

 

Jon had protested; as both Stark sisters had expected him to, but Sansa had hugged her sister long and tight and made her swear again that she would come back. Sansa didn’t ask where Arya was going. The savior of the world should be able to go wherever she pleased without her older sister and her cousin pestering her. It was just the way of this new Arya. Slipping in and out again and popping up when she pleased. Sansa knew it would take some getting used to, but she was just happy that they were all still here for her to get used to it.

 

Sansa walked the grounds of Winterfell with Yohn Royce at her side each day, both taking note of all things that had to be done. With them, though silent in their presence, was Jon, Brienne, Podrick and Davos.

 

“Those four hardly let you from their sight, My Lady,” Yohn had commented with a chuckle and Sansa had smiled while feeling a warmth in her chest from the obviousness of it.

 

She would not deny it to herself. It meant more to her than she could explain to have people who truly cared for her by her sides. For so long, she had been so alone in this world, kept apart from anyone who might care for her – even a little. And now, as she walked through Winterfell – her _home_ – everyone smiled and bowed at the sight of her, their eyes bright when she smiled at them or stopped to speak with them; as if nothing better had ever happened to them. And it was important to her that she spoke with as many people as she could. She wanted them to love her; genuinely love her and she wanted to give them reason to. She didn’t want their love just because they felt they were obligated to give it to her.

 

With Brienne, Pod, Davos and Jon, she knew that they walked with her because keeping her safe and her company and council was truly as important to them as it was to her.

 

“I wished to ask you something,” Sansa confided with Jon one night as they sat in her solar after the evening meal and all of Winterfell was settling themselves in for the night.

 

And as they did every other night – and had done after they won Winterfell back from Ramsay and before he left for Dragonstone – Jon and Sansa fell back into their routine of retiring to her solar from some peace and quiet before they went to their own beds.

 

Sansa could hardly admit it to herself just how often she had thought of how it would be if this was _their_ solar and soon, they would retire to _their_ bed, together. It was best for her sanity if she didn’t think of such things; no matter how often her brain betrayed her and thought of exactly that. Even though she know knew that Jon had been pretending with Daenerys and laying with her had all been a ruse in his game, Sansa knew that he would never look at her in any other way than he looked at her now.

 

As family.

 

Yes, they were cousins, but very recently, she was thought to be his sister and they were Starks, not Lannisters.

 

Jon was sitting in the chair next to hers, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the fire, but when Sansa spoke, he looked to her. “Of course,” he gave her the smallest of smiles and Sansa managed to return it despite the nerves tumbling about in her stomach.

 

“I know he has other responsibilities and I couldn’t ask him to stay permanently if he wished to leave to return to the Vale, but I trust Yohn Royce deeply and I do not doubt his loyalty. I would like to ask him to be my Hand,” Sansa said, keeping her eyes on Jon, watching him for the smallest expression change.

 

Jon gave none though and he leaned back in his chair, still with that small smile as he looked to her. “And you’re asking me for permission?” He asked.

 

It took Sansa a moment to realize that he was joking. Jon Snow joking didn’t happen often so she wasn’t able to recognize it immediately. When she did, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding.

 

She gave him a smile that she knew was too soft, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I’m asking if you’re offended with my choice,” she clarified.

 

Jon sighed heavily then and kept his eyes on her. “You deserve someone who has never left your side to help you most when you need it.”

 

Sansa wanted to tell him that he didn’t leave her side; not really. She had thought he had, but everything he had done – in regards to Daenerys – had been for the North. She hadn’t known at the time, but Jon was still one of the most loyal men she knew. He had too much Stark blood in him to be anything else.

 

The words, however, clumped in her throat and she was unable to speak any of it.

 

“We both know I don’t have the head for those things,” he added in a quieter voice.

 

“I think present events would argue that,” Sansa commented.

 

Jon’s smile grew, twisting into dry amusement. “Awaiting a scroll that summons me to my execution by dragon fire, you mean?” He rose to pour himself another cup of wine.

 

Sansa kept her eyes on him. “You saved all of Westeros, doing what you had to do,” she told him in a quiet voice and at her words, Jon turned to look at her. Their eyes trained on the other and Sansa couldn’t be sure how long they stared at one another, but she was certain she didn’t breathe for that entire time.

 

Though she now knew that he had been acting, Sansa recalled how _soft_ Jon’s eyes had been whenever he looked to Daenerys. He had truly looked like a man in love. Even Sansa had believed his feelings towards the Dragon Queen to be true and if Jon, himself, hadn’t told her that he was pretending, she would have forever thought that Jon had loved Daenerys truly.

 

Sansa wished someone would look at her as softly as that. There had been men who pretended to look at her with adoration, but they knew it was what they had to do to bend Sansa to their whim. Silly Sansa with love in her heart and her head full of dreams. Silly Sansa who just wanted a man to love her for her.

 

Those things had been put away – her time with Ramsay and killing Littlefinger forcing her to do so – and now, she admitted she was so afraid to bring those dreams and wants out again. The only man she could possibly ever see herself entertaining the idea of dreaming about only saw her as a sister and looked at her as such. His eyes were soft with the love one family member had for another; not as a man who loved a woman.

 

There had been a time or two when Sansa had thought that Jon _had_ been looking at her like that, but no matter how hard she tried to stop, a dream or two still managed to sneak in.

 

“And I will do what I have to do to ensure your safety,” Sansa added.

 

Jon sat down in his chair again. “You do too much, Sansa. I don’t deserve it.” He sounded so tired – as if he was already resigned to whatever fate Daenerys passed to him and wouldn’t fight it – and it made Sansa’s chest ache as she turned more in her chair to look at him.

 

“I need you here with me, Jon,” she then felt brave enough to tell him. Let him interpret it as he wished.

 

Jon stared at her, his dark eyes focused solely on her, and Sansa felt a tightening in her chest she so desperately was trying to ignore while keeping her past dreams firmly locked in her mind, not wanting them to get out.

 

…

 

The raven arrived and it was written in Varys’ hand.

 

 _Come to King’s Landing_ was all it said and Jon knew that he could not ignore it. If he did, it would only cause Dany to fly up here on Drogon and take care of him here before burning Winterfell and everyone in it to the ground. No matter how often she claimed that she was not here to burn Westeros, he also saw things flash in her eyes that he couldn’t ignore or pretend hadn’t been there.

 

Jon did not doubt that when she claimed she was there to break the wheel, what he had told her on Dragonstone stood to be absolutely true. She was just more of the same so keeping her waiting wouldn’t be just a death sentence for him, but for everyone he loved and being with Dany in the first place had been so _that_ wouldn’t happen.

 

Sansa was the one to make the decision of who was to come. Herself and Jon, Brienne, Davos and Pod and Yohn Royce as well. They would ride horses and with the fewer people, they would be able to get to King’s Landing sooner than if they brought carriages and an entire party with them. Sansa and Jon knew that a Stark must always remain in Winterfell, but special circumstances required certain rules to be bent and as they left, Sansa promised to everyone outside to see them off that they would _all_ be returning.

 

The confidence in which Sansa spoke, Jon almost found himself believing her.

 

As they and their horses got closer to King’s Landing, snowflakes floated in the air.

 

“Snow this South?” Sansa tilted her face up and then looked to Jon as if he had any kind of explanation.

 

He felt the knot in his stomach. Already, he knew what it was. He knew what had happened. Somehow, he already knew. Was it because he and Dany shared the same blood? Did he know what she did because they were both of the same family? Reminding himself of familial relationship, his stomach only knotted further.

 

“It’s ash,” Davos was the one to say it and Sansa gasped sharply.

 

If they weren’t on horseback, Jon would have reached for her hand immediately. Brienne looked pale and Pod looked as if someone had just struck him when he had had his guard down. Yohn Royce was frowning to himself and like Jon, he didn’t seem surprised in the least.

 

Jon looked to Sansa – saw the ashes in her red hair – and he and Davos then locked eyes. Without a word, Jon gave the man an affirming nod. They both kicked their horses and spurned forward, racing to get to King’s Landing that much sooner. Jon didn’t have to look behind to the others. Sansa was safe with Brienne, Pod and Yohn Royce and Jon wanted to see what had happened before the others.

 

“Whoa,” Davos brought his horse to a stop and Jon brought his to a stop as well, the two staring ahead at King’s Landing; of what remained of the once great city. “She burned it,” Davos whispered more to himself than to anyone and the man’s tone was one of disbelief.

 

Jon looked to the man. Davos looked genuinely surprised and Jon tried to share the same emotion, but he just wasn’t able to. His stomach churned. He smelled the fires and the burned flesh. He heard crying and faint screams from inside the remaining walls. No, he wasn’t surprised in the least.

 

Still, he leaned over the side of his horse and vomited.

 

…

 

Sansa hated King’s Landing. She had wished destruction to come upon this city more times than she could count, but as she walked through the rumble of what remained, tears stung her eyes and it wasn’t just from the smoke and sulfur still hanging in the air. Jon walked beside her and he could hear the gasps of breath catching in her chest and he stepped to her, putting his arm around her.

 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered and she nodded, not doubting that he did. She leaned into him, not trusting her legs, but somehow, still able to continue forward.

 

She stopped in her tracks when she saw the burned out shape in front of them – two burned bodies. A mother and a child, a toy still clutched in the child’s hand. A sob rose in Sansa’s throat and she quickly spun away from it, not able to see anything else. She pressed her face to Jon’s throat and he wrapped her in his arms.

 

“They didn’t deserve this,” she whispered through her tears. She hated King’s Landing, but the countless people who lived here – just people working their hardest to live their simple lives – didn’t deserve to be burned by dragon fire for doing nothing except living here.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sansa heard Jon whisper in her ear, over and over again, as if he was personally responsible for this and knowing Jon, he _did_ place the blame entirely at his feet.

 

Gathering the last shreds of strength inside of her, Sansa took a deep breath, steadying herself and she brought her head back so that she may look into his face. She was not going to think of how relieved she was that Jon kept his arms around her. Being back here, even with the city as a burned out shell of what it once was, being in Jon’s arms, she felt well and truly safe.

 

“You couldn’t have known,” Sansa told him.

 

Jon visibly swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment. She wondered if he knew he had tightened his arms around her. He began shaking his head and Sansa’s hands flew to his cheeks. Jon’s eyes opened and she held onto his face, not letting go even when she told herself to.

 

“Jon, you couldn’t have known,” she told him again and he swallowed again and began to shake his head, but he didn’t move his eyes from hers.

 

This man. This good, honorable, _frustrating_ man.

 

A throat cleared and Jon and Sansa’s eyes broke contact as they turned their heads. It was Davos and he looked apologetic for having come to them.

 

“Forgive me,” he dipped his head. “My Lady, word has come from the cells. Tyrion wishes to speak with you before the council meeting.”

 

Again, Jon’s arms tightened around her whether he realized it or not. Sansa allowed herself the brief hope that he did realize it and was holding onto her on purpose.

 

“I will not speak with him until the council meeting,” Sansa said in a strong voice that surprised even her considering how weak her legs still felt. “I have nothing more to say to that man.”

 

Davos dipped his head again and turned to go deliver her word. Sansa noted Brienne and Pod standing away, looking over the destruction themselves. Sansa looked to Jon.

 

“I must go speak with Brienne,” she told him and only then did Jon’s arms finally fall away from her.

 

Sansa missed his hold immediately.

 

As Sansa stepped to her sworn shield, she didn’t see a fierce warrior or a knight; her most faithful defender. Instead, Sansa saw a woman who’s heart was breaking in her eyes. Sansa saw her friend who’s pain was clear on her face despite her best efforts to try and hide it. Sansa could see it though. She glanced at Pod and she knew that he could see it, too, even if he was pretending not to, for Brienne’s sake.

 

Knowing that no words would bring her comfort in this moment, Sansa simply reached out and took hold of Brienne’s hand, squeezing it and not letting go. And Brienne did not look at her – not wanting her Lady to see the tears in her eyes she couldn’t fight back – but she squeezed her hand back and they both held on.

 

…

 

Jon recognized some at the meeting as they sat in their chairs; not all, but some. Edmure Tully, Sansa and Arya, Bran and Yohn Royce and Sam, of course. There was a man he learned was the Prince of Dorne and a young man he learned was Robin Arryn, having not seen the boy since he was much younger and still very much a little boy. Another woman was Theon’s sister, Yara Greyjoy. Jon stood behind Sansa’s chair and admitted to hardly listening to any of what was discussed.

 

Greyworm then began to speak and Jon’s eyes rested on the man.

 

“He is a slayer of the Queen. We demand proper retribution,” Greyworm said in a hard voice, his eyes equally hard as he looked to a tattered Jorah, standing in front of them all.

 

Jon couldn’t help, but tighten his fingers around Longclaw’s hilt, but whether it was to strike Greyworm or Jorah down, he admitted that he didn’t know.

 

“And who are you?” Sansa spoke up.

 

Greyworm turned his frown on her and Jon’s fingers tightened even more around his sword’s hilt.

 

“I am Greyworm of the Unsullied, Commander of the armies of Queen Daenerys-” He began to recite.

 

“That’s enough,” Arya swiftly cut him off.

 

From the corner of eye, he saw Sam pursing his lips together to keep from smiling. Jon admitted that he nearly had to do the same thing, but instead, he stared at the man who stared coldly now at both of his cousins.

 

“Jorah Mormont slayed a tyrant,” Sansa began to speak again. “A woman who, just very recently, slaughtered millions of innocent people, burning them alive. And now you say that this tyrant murder was _the_ Queen and we should listen to you?”

 

“The Ironborn swore ourselves to Queen Daenerys and Jorah Mormont put a knife in her heart. Let the Unsullied give him what he deserves,” Yara demanded.

 

“How was that cell your Queen left you to rot in?” Yohn Royce now asked. “Accommodating, I hope.”

 

Glancing down to her face, Jon could see it was Sansa’s turn to keep from smiling.

 

Yara spoke nothing more, but her glare at them all continued to get her point across.

 

Sansa looked back to Greyworm. “You fought bravely for the North against the dead, Greyworm. That should not and will not be forgotten. But from what my sister has told me, you also stormed the city with a tyrant and partook in the slaughtering and allowing others you led to rape innocents.”

 

Greyworm’s face remained hard and blank, but not a single muscle in his body moved as Sansa spoke and everyone seated stared at him.

 

“The Unsullied will leave Westeros,” Bran stated. “You and whatever warriors and Dothraki are still alive will return to Essos and you will not return here. I’m certain the Ironborn will gladly use their ships to return you safely to your home.”

 

Yara opened her mouth – likely to protest – but when everyone looked at her, she remained silent in her chair.

 

“As for Jorah Mormont, you have saved Westeros from a tyrant,” Bran continued. “But you were also at that tyrant’s side, aiding her and counseling her, when she came ashore. You must be punished.”

 

Jon cleared his throat and his three cousins turned their heads to look at him. “Perhaps, Your Grace… there is no more need for a Wall, that’s true, but the Wildings still need our aid. We owe it to them with their help in the Battle of Winterfell.”

 

Bran looked at him for a moment and then gave a nod. Jon nodded in return and they all looked to Jorah Mormont once more. The man looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days; nor had he bathed or shaved. He looked like a shell, his skin caving into his bones. Jon knew that this man had loved Dany more than any other. Jon knew that this man would have followed Dany to the ends of the earth if that was what she wished of him.

 

What happened here in King’s Landing and seeing that his Queen had been the one to do it must have truly been traumatizing if it caused Jorah to stick his blade into his Queen’s heart. Jon couldn’t even imagine.

 

“You will report to the Wall. Jon is correct. There is no need for a Wall any longer, but there still must be a Night’s Watch. There still must be a place where those who have broken the law must be sent. You will take command of the Night’s Watch until your death and you will aid the wildings in returning to their homes.”

 

After Bran’s statement, there was silence. Whether Jorah actually heard or not, it couldn’t be certain for he said nothing in agreement or in protest.  

 

“Tyrion Lannister,” Bran looked next to the third man standing in front of them. “You may have not killed your Queen, but you served her just as loyally as Jorah Mormont. You did nothing to stop her or her dragons in their murder and destruction. Your punishment will also be the same.”

 

“Your Grace, please-” Tyrion began to step forward to plead his case. “I was only doing what I thought was right. I thought she would be better than Cersei. I did not know what she was going to do-”

 

“You went with her because you knew she would kill your sister,” Sansa interrupted. “That is all you cared about – killing Cersei, no matter who got hurt or killed in the process. I understood the sentiment, but every decision you have made nearly caused the destruction of all of Westeros. And if you would like, I could speak of things done before you met _your_ Queen that I have heard from others. Shall I speak of Shae?”

 

Tyrion looked to his former wife and Sansa lifted her chin just slightly, daring Tyrion to say something to her. From the corner of his eye, Jon could see the Prince of Dorne – having been looking bored through most of this and which Jon could understand – sit up in his seat as Sansa spoke, the Prince’s eyes looking at her. Jon’s fingers remained around the hilt of Longclaw and his jaw clenched.  

 

The Prince of Dorne… Jon hadn’t caught the man’s name. He hadn’t thought it was important, but now, as Jon looked at this man as he looked at Sansa, Jon was suddenly very curious. He had thick black curly hair, a black beard, he wore clothes of gold and purple and his dark eyes seemed very curious about Sansa, sitting straight in her chair in her black dress, her hair down and braided and looking as much a Queen as Dany ever did.

 

“I love you, little brother,” Sansa’s voice pulled Jon from his staring at the Prince. “I always will. You’ll be a good King.” She was turned in her chair, looking to Bran as Bran set his stare on her. “But tens of thousands of Northmen fell in the Great War defending all of Westeros. And those who survived have seen too much and fought too hard ever to kneel again. The North will remain an independent kingdom, as it was for thousands of years.” Her voice was strong and clear and everyone listening held their breaths.

 

Keeping his eyes on his sister, without a word, Bran gave a single nod and Sansa exhaled a breath, nodding as well. Behind her chair, Jon did nothing to hide his own smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

 

…

 

“My Lady-” Brienne began to protest to no surprise to Sansa.

 

“Please.” Sansa took Brienne’s hands and grasped them tightly. “Please. I trust so few people and you are one of those few people. I need you and Pod to stay here, in King’s Landing, with Bran. I need to know that he is being kept safe by two of the bravest, strongest people I know.”

 

Brienne stared at her for a moment. Her eyes darted to look to Jon before back to Sansa.

 

“I made a pledge that I would never leave your side,” Brienne said to her.

 

Sansa felt tears pooling in her eyes and she did not let go of Brienne’s hands. “I can’t tell you how much you mean to me and how safe you have kept me. Your service to me has been what has kept me alive, Ser Brienne, in more ways than one.”

 

Brienne’s own eyes began to grow wet.

 

“Please,” Sansa whispered. “Please stay and keep the King safe. I trust no one else.”

 

“You are Queen in the North now. You need to be kept safe, too,” Brienne said.

 

“I have Jon and Davos and all of the other Northmen who will protect their Queen.” Sansa didn’t look behind her to know that Jon stood there. She could feel him and at her words, she knew that he was looking to Brienne so the woman would know that Sansa spoke true.

 

If Brienne couldn’t be Sansa’s shield anymore, both Jon and Sansa knew no one else other than Jon would be the one to fill that title now.

 

“You will write and you will visit,” Sansa said and she grasped Brienne’s hands. “And that is not a request. That is a Queen’s order,” she added as the first tears began to free her eyes and stream down her cheeks. “Promise me that you will be at my coronation when it comes.”

 

“Podrick and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Your Grace,” Brienne swore with her own tears and Jon turned his head away to give the two women a moment of privacy as they embraced.

 

Before they left King’s Landing in a few days’ time, again to head home, Jon would find a moment’s time to thank Brienne as well, for being with Sansa when he couldn’t be and always keeping her safe. If anyone understood as much as Jon did just how important Queen Sansa was in this world, it would be Ser Brienne.

 

…

 

Sansa had a small council for herself which included Yohn Royce, Davos and Jon. They sat in her solar and discussed Northern matters, getting the Kingdom right again after too long of a tumultuous time. They were to be certain that the reign of Queen Sansa, first in her name, would usher in a time of peace.

 

“I know that we have time for this, Your Grace, but there’s never harm in beginning discussion,” Yohn said before their meeting of the day could draw to a close before the evening meal.

 

“Lord Royce,” Sansa began to shake her head. “I’ve already told you. We will discuss this matter in two years’ time. Not a moment before.”

 

“What matter?” Jon sat up in his chair and looked to his Queen and her Hand. Therefore, he saw the look Sansa and Yohn exchanged. “What matter, Sansa?” Jon asked.

 

Sansa stood, signaling Yohn and Davos to stand as well. “Thank you for all of your hard work. I would truly be lost without your council,” she smiled at both men, glancing down to Jon as he remained in his seat, his brow furrowed and a frown one his face as he dwelled on the mysterious matter.

 

Davos and Yohn gave her bows before they left the room, Sansa following after them to close the door behind them so it was only her and Jon and their privacy.

 

“What matter?” Jon asked for a third time, standing up and turning to look at her.

 

“Jon,” she sighed heavily, as if exhausted – and she was feeling quite all of a sudden – and she leaned back against the door for support. “It’s nothing. Lord Royce is right in that it _will_ be a matter, but we have time. _I_ have time to think about it and plan accordingly.”

 

“Sansa,” Jon says her name, almost in a warning tone, his patience – what little there had been there – now waning.

 

“About marriage, Jon!” She suddenly exclaimed simply because she wanted him to shut up. “Marriage and giving the North heirs so that the Stark line may continue.”

 

Jon snapped his mouth shut at that and she was grateful for the reprieve. Jon, she swore, could sometimes be as relentless as a dog with a bone. She loved that he was here, _permanently_ , and she loved having his council, but sometimes, he could annoy her like no one else could. It was a true talent. She always meant to tell him that.

 

“I have time though and I’m certainly not looking to rush into something and force a third marriage on myself. I am Queen. I don’t even have to marry. I can just have a babe by someone and legitimize them. I haven’t told Lord Royce that though yet. I can just imagine his reaction.”

 

“Who… who would you… you would have a bastard?” Jon sputtered.

 

Sansa frowned at him. “No. I would have a baby. I don’t like that word, Jon,” she then told him.

 

“But that’s what they would be!” He exclaimed.

 

“No, they wouldn’t. They would be my child and I would love them and they would be a Stark!”

 

Jon opened his mouth to say something to that, but suddenly Jon’s voice was the last thing she wanted to hear; especially about this topic. There was only one way she _wanted_ this conversation to go and it would never be.

 

“Jon-” she began, but he cut her off.

 

“You will not ever marry?” Jon asked her in a quiet voice.

 

“It has been shown to me, _repeatedly_ , that no man can ever love me,” Sansa answered, proud of herself for keeping the trembles from her voice as she spoke a truth that she always tried her hardest to keep her shredded heart from admitting to herself. “It is best if I simply find a lover or two for myself. It’s safe for me.”

 

Just thinking of _that_ though, her stomach churned. Allowing a man in her bed – even if she was Queen and she had chosen this man – she could still hardly even think of it without beginning to feel sick. There was only one man she felt safest around and she didn’t even know how to tell him that let alone reveal anything else to him.

 

She loved him and she couldn’t bear his sure look of disgust and refusal if she told him.

 

At least she still had two years before this matter had to be seriously addressed. Surely, in two years, she would find a man she’d be able to have in her bed long enough to get with child.

 

“Do you truly believe that?” Jon asked and his voice was still quiet.

 

“Believe what?”

 

He stared at her and then slowly, he began stepping towards her. “Do you believe that no man could ever love you?” He asked and his eyes were so dark and looked so sad.

 

Sansa couldn’t look away from his face as he came closer. Within a few more steps, her back was firmly pressed to the door and Jon was standing directly in front of her. She didn’t feel scared though. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, but it wasn’t from fear.

 

“Any man now who says they love me only love me for my title. I am not naïve, Jon.”

 

He was quiet for a moment, as if thinking that over, and then slowly, he took both of her hands in his. He looked down to them, rubbing her knuckles with his thumbs, and Sansa nearly began trembling. This was a dream. She knew it had to be. Jon then lifted his eyes again to look to her face.

 

“What if there was a man who loved you long before you were Queen?” He then asked.

 

The breath caught in Sansa’s throat and she parted her lips to answer, but no sound left her mouth.

 

“And what if he wished to marry you more than he had ever wished for anything? Would he have to be a prince consort to the Queen or could he just happily remain the Queen’s sworn shield?”

 

Sansa tried to remember to breathe even as her heart, the pieces fully together now, began to flutter upwards to the base of her throat. Slowly, gently, she pulled her hands free from Jon’s and as one curled over his shoulder, the other slipped to the back of his neck.

 

“He would be mine,” Sansa whispered just as she pulled Jon forward so his lips could meet hers.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


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